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THE 


PRODIGAL SON 


JInfr ©tfjetj 

— / 

^Y THE JR.EV. jEoWARD 0. pLAGG, p.p. 


53 


NEW YORK: 



FLOCKHART & HOOPER, 

Third Avenue, corner 145th Street. 
1878. 






it'll 

.f 32. 3 


Entered according to Act of Congress, 
in the year 1878, by 
Kdwakd Octavius Flagg, 
in C'e Office of the Librarian of Congress, 
at Washington, D. C. 


Printed by 

1 LOCKHART & HOOPER, 

Third Avenue, Corner 145th Street, N. Y. 


PREFACE. 


These poems, written in the intervals of 
clerical duty,- are published at the request of 
a few valued friends. If their perusal in 
after years may recall faintly the “ light of 
other days, ” a fervent wish of their author 
will be gratified. With regard to the “ Prodi¬ 
gal Son,” he would state that while carefully 
studying the most reliable theological author¬ 
ities, he has dealt in such original exposition 
as might at least come within the province of 
poetical license. 

The Author. 

New York, 

September, 1878 . 






CONTENTS. 


The Prodigal Son - 9 

Life as It Is - - - - 43 

To My Daughter on her Sixteenth Birthday 45 
On Hearing the Evening Gun at Quarantine, 

Staten Island 47 

Beautiful Hudson - - - 49 

The Magdalen’s Prayer 51 

Cast Arnchor - - - 54 

To Be a Protestant is—What P - 56 

My World Within - - 58 

Clouds ----- 60 

To a Friend Born on Christmas Day - 62 

The Hidden Cross 63 











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A 4 


THE 

PRODIGAL SON. 






THE 


PRODIGAL SON, 

% JVm. 


FATHER’S home seemed fair and bright 
if||| As father’s home could be ; 

Parental love, with circling light, 

Allured to harmony; 

Each heart with throbbing care oppressed 
Might find the soul in peace possessed. 


ii. 

Beneath the porch the lily grew, 
Beyond the monarch’s sheen, 

When, richly clad in garments new, 

He met the Eastern queen. 

Within the garden fountains played, 
And birds sang sweetly from the glade. 




10 


THE PRODIGAL SON. 


III. 

No wish to which the lips gave vent 
Was ever breathed in vain ; 

But skilful ministries attent 
Anticipate each pain. 

A doting heart presided o’er, 

With angel power, this home of yore. 

IV 

But oft there seems in restless man 
A spirit ne’er at ease, 

Howe’er devised each subtle plan, 

The fickle mind to please. 

The more affection wreathes her smiles, 
The more this spirit spreads her wiles. 

v. 

The elder brother, cool and sage, 

With will controlled by time, 
Remained to smooth his father’s age, 
And wished to spend his prime 
Where youth had been so highly blest, 
Amid domains he knew—the best. 


THE PRODIGAL SOX. 


11 


VI. 

The younger chafed at calm repose— 

He wished a life less tame, 

He thought not of the saddened close, 

Of days exciting, fraught with shame. 
He could not brook a mild restraint 
But uttered his ill-timed complaint. 

VII. 

“ Give me my portion,” to his sire 
Impatiently he spake— 

“ Of this dull thrall my soul doth tire. 
And bids a being new awake, 

I would alone my master be— 

Permit me henceforth to be free.” 

VIII. 

0 foolish youth, in conscious might 
Thou seek'st the stormy wave 
Where ripened powers at their height 
Could not from ruin save ! 

Many a one doth hopeless pine 
From independence such as thine. 


12 


THE PRODIGAL SON. 


IX. 

Thus do we slight that holy will 
Which ruleth from above— 

The whispered accents, mild and still, 
Embalmed in Jesus’ love. 

We wait not for our daily bread 
Submitting humbly to be led. 

x 

The father would no more control 
A heart estranged from home, 

But of his living gave the whole, 

And let the truant roam— 

He left him to his foolish self 
To squander, as he pleased, his pelf. 

XI. 

So when departing from that crook 
Which guides to pastures green, 
The sinner will no longer brook 
The shepherd’s words serene, 
Permission comes to souls divorced 
When precepts cannot be enforced. 


THE PRODIGAL SON. 


13 


XII. 

The pleasures of this ’wild’ring life 
Profusely are revealed, 

And all those pastimes waken strife 
Whose poison is revealed— 

The best of which when fully tried 
Reach not the soul’s deep under-tide. 


XIII. 

The youth, his portion having gleaned, 
No fragment left behind, 

At once his glitt’ring coffers teemed 
Up to his wasteful mind ; 

He wished to quaff at every stream 
Of human joy that filled his dream. 

XIV, 

A “far off” country would he reach, 
Away from each dull sight, 

Where prosy counsel could not preach 
And lay down rules of right; 

He wished to rove in distant lands 
’Mid music, mirth, and sarabands. 


THE PRODIGAL SON. 


XV. 

The sinner’s haunts are far away 
From Gfod’s most pure domain, 

’Mid riot, pomp, and roundelay, 

Where madness follows pain— 

Amid the Saturnalia deep, 

Where Innocence is fast asleep. 

XVI. 

With lavish hand he spent the wealth 
His father had bestowed, 

Regardless of repute or health, 

His bounty freely flowed ; 

The means with frugal care secured 
Went forth as any freak allured. 

• 

XVII. 

With reckless hand he tossed the dice, 

To artful rogues a prey, 

In secret places where that vice 
Avoids the light of day— 

Inveigling him by losing first, 

They knew he soon would fare the worst. 


THE PRODIGAL SON. 


15 


XVIII. 

He sported clothing rich and gay 
Of fabrics finely wrought, 

Which, ever changing day by day, 

A new one must be sought; 

Environed with a silly glare 
He made the foolish people stare. 

XIX 

He dwelt in halls of marble white 
’ Neath ceilings decked with gold, 
Where windows stained admit the light 
And traceries rare unfold. 

Gay Fauns and Satyrs deftly grace 
The niches of his dwelling place. 

xx. 

Fair vases of Egyptian art 
Profusely are displayed, 

And Greece and Rome their gifts impart 
With costly gems inlaid ; 

Many a painting you descry 

With charms to greet the wanton eye. 


16 


THE PRODIGAL SON. 


XXI. 

The seas are dragged and woods explored 
His table to provide ; 

Wines best the vintage may afford 
Must flow in crimson tide— 

And swarthy servants stately stand 
Obedient to their lord’s commands. 


XXII. 

In gilded chariot he rode, 

By steeds the noblest drawn, 
Caparisoned in latest mode 
They proudly swept the lawn, 

As though Ambition’s highest lust 
Were steeped in consequential dust. 


XXIII. 

The syren pleasure lured him on 
’Mid many a haunt of crime, 

While all that modesty was gone 
Which decked his youthful prime ; 
And oft he spent the golden hours 
In artful Beauty’s sunny bowers. 


THE PRODIGAL SON. 


XXIV. 

With recklessness he quaffed the bowl 
’Till wildly tossed the brain, 

While reason, far beyond control, 

His temple throbbed with pain— 
And when he heard the midnight bell 
He thought himself in deepest Hell. 


XXV. 

The charmer’s voice poured in his ear 
The honey of deceit; 

He wist not evil could appear 
In words so soft and sweet; 

And while reposing on her breast 
Each foul suspicion was at rest. 

XXVI. 

He played and lost, he lost and played, 
’Till, means forever gone, 

His summer friends no longer stayed 
But left him all alone— 

Alone upon the wide, wide world, 

With ev’ry hope to mis’ry hurled. 


18 


THE' PRODIGAL SON7* * 


XXVII. 

And now the spendthrift sighs in vain 
His fortunes to retrieve ; 

He seeks his votaries again, 

But they will not receive 
The purseless tool they might not use— 
Whose kindness they could not abuse. 

XXVIII. 

A “famine” had o’erspread the land— 

A famine sad and sore 
As when our Heavenly Father’s hand 
Had Israel scourged of yore ; 

When far from Heaven they went astray, 
Each in his own dark, sinful way. 

XXIX. 

Now, friendless, hungry, and downcast, 

A “citizen” he sought, 

To whom with confidence, at last, 

His sorrows deep he brought, 

And joined him with consenting mind— 
Desiring some relief to find. 


THE PRODIGAL SON. 


19 


XXX. 

And can he now still farther rove 
Yet longer leave his home ? 

Why, wretched, will he slight that love 
From which his footsteps roam? 
Must will pursue its bitter end— 

The heart of pride refuse to bend ? 


XXXI. 

So weak are all away from God 
Sad wand’rers through the earth, 

They still despise the chast'ning rod 
Reject their heav’nly birth,— 

But harder is the lot in store 

For sin will scourge them more and more. 

XXXII. 

Ah, how with cruel shame he burns 
When pond’ring o’er his fate; 

To be a swineherd now he turns 
From his once grand estate.— 

Alas the baleful fruits of sin !—" 

Is this what pleasure’s suitors win ? 


20 


THE PRODIGAL SON. 


XXXIU. 

Can Jew descend to such a task— 
Attend the loathesome beast— 

A brute which princes dare not ask 
To offer at the feast ? 

Those demon-haunted go-betweens 
In country of the G-adarenes. 


xxx .v. 

But to a stage beyond sin leads 
This child of its deceit; 

A gnawing hunger loudly pleads 
For husks the swine did eat. 

But e’en such boon no one would give, 
That this poor starving wretch might live. 

xxxv. 

No better fortune sense bestows 
On those enamoured of its joys; 

From bad to worse he ever goes, 

Whom once Satanic art decoys ; 

A rebel from God’s holy will 
With world-husks cannot take his fill. 


THE PRODIGAL SON. 


21 


xxxvr. 

We drop the curtain on a scene 
With sacred lessons fraught, 

In hopes that Heaven kind may screen 
From pleasures dearly bought, 

And let the heart its strength renew 
As happier issues come to view. 

XXXVII 

’Neath yonder tall and beauteous palm, 
With branches spreading wide, 
Distilling clear and healing balm 
Forth from its gen’rouS side, 

Behold a manly outstretched form, 
Prostrate as though by fiercest storm. 

XXXVIII. 

His garments are the sorriest kind, 

His shoeless feet are bare; 

The stifled moaning of the wind 
Floats though his silken hair— 
Uncovered in the midday heat 
From which he seeks this cool retreat. 


2 2 


THE PRODIGAL SON. 


XXXIX. 

His features of a classic mould 
Have been a parent’s pride, 

Which, while admiring* friends behold, 
All faults are set aside. 

Indulgence, mark the fatal end 
To which thy unsafe guidings tend ! 

XL. 

His tearful eyelids overflow 
With frequent bursts of grief, 

As though the soul, distraught with woe, 
Were lab’ririg for relief. 

Again a sobbing child is he 
Beneath the unrevealing tree. 

XLI. 

Rebuked he seems by every brute 
Which innocently feeds, 

Preaching content in language mute 
With what supplies man’s needs. 
Showing how all God’s creatures thrive 
Who in the paths of virtue live. 


THE ..PRODIGAL . SON.. - 23 

XUI. 

But “ to himself” he now has come— 

His nobler better self, 

A vict’ry glorious is won, 

More precious far than pelf. 

He sees the nature of the case 
And sees it with becoming grace. 

XLIII. 

He thought how bread, and e’en to spare, 
Those hired servants had, 

Who did his father’s bounty share— 

The humblest fed and clad ; 

While threadbare, starved, he could not see 
One single covert where to flee. 


XLIV. 

A late repentance touched his heart 
And bent his stubborn will; 

The feelings of a son now start 
A duty to fulfill; 

They bid that sire so wronged to seek 
With spirit lowly bowed and meek. 


24 


THE PRODIGAL SON. 


XLV. 

The truant says “ I will arise 
And to my father go, 

And tell him I have shocked the skies, 
And caused him deepest woe— 

I’ll ask him not to call me son, 

But as his servants make me one.” 

xi/vi. 

A parent’s love who, who can tell ? 

’Tis like the ocean deep ; 

A constant and a flowing well: 

It cannot pause nor sleep, 

’Tis like a faithful star above— 

A parent’s never-dying love. 

XLVII. 

Fit pattern his who came to earth 
From the supernal home, 

To ransom those of mortal birth— 
Who, fitful, foolish, roam, 

Pursuing empty bubbles thin 
Which dance along the tide of sin. 


THE PRODIGAL SON. 


25 


XLVIII. 

And ah ’tis for the wand’ring child 
The parent’s bosom yearns, 
Although ungrateful he and wild— 
Affection’s bosom burns, 
Recalling but that nobler side 
So oft with reckless faults allied. 


XLIX. 

Thus pause we o’er some statue old 
Despite its broken grace, 
Disfigured by defiling mould 
On hand, on foot, on face, 

Which still the pow’r of genius shows 
A common work will not disclose. 

L. 

As to the royal poet of yore, 

So stained with dreadful crime, 
Our God a kindly feeling bore 
Because of love sublime— 

So harsher thoughts were all effaced 
As virtues in the past were traced. 


3 


26 


THE PRODIGAL SON. 


LI. 

Were traced by him in saddest mood 
Whose son, long since away, 

His father’s counsel had withstood, 
In distant lands to stray ; 

The void ensuing, dark and chill, 
The older brother could not fill. 


LIT. 

The gentle sighing wind is fraught 
With odors sweet and rare, 

And every genial gift is brought 
To banish dull despair. 

The father’s spirit will not rise ; 

A frown sOems on the orient skies. 

LIII. 

But now the son, no more in woe— 
His tears replaced by smiles— 

To seek the homestead would he go 
Through long and weary miles ; 
As doves unto their windows fly, 

So thither did the wand’rer hie. 


THE PRODIGAL SON. 


27 


LIV. 

Thus hasten those by sin oppressed, 

Who favor lost would win, 

To seek again the slighted rest, 

And life anew begin; 

With quickened speed the narrow way 
They traverse through the lengthened day. 

lv. 

’Mid long and rock-ribbed wastes he toiled, 
And frowning dangers braved ; 

His tattered garb was sadly soiled 
While food he vainly craved, 

And oft his unprotected form 
Was pelted by the driving storm. 


LVI. 

At each advance his heart had failed 
His strength had given o’er ; 

By fortunes rudest blasts assail’d, 
And sorrows yet in store— 

But, thinking of the home beyond, 
No longer did his soul despond. 


28 


THE PRODIGAL SON. 


LVII. 

While lying on the cold, cold ground— 
His only bed at night— 

He almost wished for death profound 
To shut this world from sight. 

But soon the beams of op’ning day 
Drove all these shadows far away. 

LYIII. 

The Via Dolorosa is 

The road which Jesus trod, 

And ever must it needs be his 
Who would return to God, 

When leaving the celestial way 
’Mid earth’s delusions far away. 


LIX. 

But soon the native scenes appear 
With all their wonted charm, 

Each well known spot to mem’ry dear 
Where world soil might not harm. 
The sound of bird-note and of rill 
Are floating from the distant hill. 


THE PRODIGAL SON. 


29 


LX. 

Oh, what can be more welcome sight 
In this cold world of ours, 

When suddenly is shed the light 
Of early cherished bowers, 

Years passing since our footsteps strayed 
From haunts where erst our childhood played. 


lxl 

And what can more the spirit cheer 
When we have rovers been 
In error’s walks for many a year, 

From fields of living green— 

Than light again from that bright clime 
Where heavenly voices sweetly chime! 

lxil 

And now as mourning ewe perceives 
Her lambkin from afar, 

While brake and dingle shadowing leaves 
Cannot her sense debar— 

Though features changed and plight forlorn 
The father knows his younger born. 


30 


THE PRODIGAL SON. 


LXIII. 

And as that ewe, with footstep fleet, 
Speeds onward to her young, 

So quick departs that sire to meet 
Him whom his heart had wrung— 
Embracing with paternal joy 
And kissing his loved erring boy. 

LXIV. 

Thus condescends affection kind, 

From yon far dearer home, 

Striving the penitent to find 
And bidding “ freely come.” 
Forgiveness stooping to embrace 
And kiss the lost of Adam’s race. 

LX V. 

“ Father, forgive,” are words that rise 
Spontaneous from the heart. 

“ The voice of vengeance deeply cries, 
And bids me hence depart; 

But e’en a servant would I be— 

My father, might I dwell with thee ? ” 


THE PRODIGAL SON. 


31 


LX VI. 

0 see how love o’erlooks the past 
A contrite soul receives; 

What guerdon binds repentance fast 
And what are its reprieves, 

No menial office will be given 
To one who is reclaimed to heaven. 

lx vi i. 

The rags of sin are torn away 
A robe the best is brought 
A jewell’d ring decks the display, 

Of fine gold richly wrought; 

No more the rugged rocks now bruise 
His feet, within protecting shoes. 

LXVIII. 

When slaves to freemen were advanced 
The robe and ring were placed ; 

Fit signal these of lives enhanced, 

When, all our sins erased, 

The slaves of time confess to God, 

And, crown’d with peace, feel not the rod. 


32 


THE PRODIGAL SON. 


LXIX. 

At once the fatted calf must fall 
To honor this event; 

’Mid boon companions one and all 
A messenger is sent— 

The dead now lives, the lost is found, 
0 spread the joyful tidings round ! 

LXX. 

The happy parent cannot keep 
Enclosed within his breast 
A pleasure which his soul doth steep 
But e’en must tell the rest— 

How he who such a race had run 
Is now again enthroned a son. 


LXXI. 

And while his friends rejoiced below, 
At rescue such as this 
A feeling kindred they bestow 
Who dwell in realms of bliss, 

For one repenting in God’s sight 
Makes glad the angels robed in white. 


THE PRODIGAL SON. 


33 


LXXII. 

The tabret sends a merry sound, 

The harp and viol too ; 

The gleesome echoes far rebound 
Through every avenue; 

The startled chambers loudly ring 
As mirthful inmates dance and sing. 

LXXIII. 

And are there those of cynic mould 
Who could such signs condemn P 
And can a heart be found so cold 
This glowing tide would stem ? 
Alone are they who ne’er relent 
When fallen ones ’mid tears repent. 

LXXIV. 

To him, the first-born from the field, 
Returning to his home, 

The merry-makings are revealed 
Which strangely to him come. 

He asks a servant, with chagrin, 

“ What means this revelry within ? ” 

4 


THE PRODIGAL SON. 


LXXV. 

Response is made that “safe and sound, 
The absent has returned— 

The once lost brother now' is found 
For whom his father yearned— 

And hence the fatted calf was slain 
And hence was heard the joyous strain. 

LXXVI. 

A scowl o’erspread the listener's brow 
As thus the servant spake, 

And angrily escaped the vow 
No entrance would he make, 

Where welcome such as this was shown 
To him the father did disown. 

LXXVII. 

But, oh, like one so ever kind 
To publican or scribe, 

Who would some convert seek to find 
’ Mid Israel’s wayward tribe— 

The father came forth to his son, 

“ Entreating ” that he might be won. 


THE PRODIGAL SON. 


35 


LXXVIII. 

The son spake : “ Lo, for many years 
Thee faithful have I served ; 

Most scrupulously and with fears 
Have I thy laws preserved, 

While not a kid was ever slain 
To show that I ne’er gave thee pain, 


LXXIX. 

“ But when with harlots, low and vile, 
r ihy substance is-devoured, 

Upon the spendthrift thou dost smile 
And greetings warm are showered— 
While naught is done in my behalf 
For him is killed the fatted calf.'” • v 1 

LXXX. 

The sir6 these feelings to- allay 
His motives- will define ;*— 

“ Son, ever with me dost thou stay 
And all I have is thine ; 

But now we gladly greet within 
Thy brother, saved from death and sin.” 


36 


THE PRODIGAL SON. 


LXXXI. 

It might seem but a fair complaint, 

The angry senior urged, 

Who, hungry from his toil, and faint, 
Had at this hour emerged, 

When such wild merriment, he learned, 
Was for a vagrant just returned. 

LXXXII. 

But. he had coldly sought to buy 
A title to reward. 

He thought by service he might try 
To reach exact award, 

Not counting how affection's power 
May be the ruler of the hour. 

LXXXI II. 

So thought the Pharisee to claim 
An interest from above,— 

He, seeking to evade all blame 
In good works without love— 
Lacking the fragrance of that charm 
Which keeps from meritorious harm. 


THE PRODIGAL SON. 


37 


LXXX1V. 

The father, like the Gospel’s Lord, 
While pleased with service strict, 
Was always ready to accord 
Where love did not restrict, 
Implying that free grace alone 
Must come from the eternal throne.— 


lx xxv. 

Our parable has lessons meet 
For every child of sin : 

From him who penitence would greet 
And seek their souls to win ; 

A solace may they prove to all 
Who groan because of Adam’s fall. 

LXXXVI. 

Lone “ child of frailty, ” hast thou strayed 
In crime’s unhallowed path ? 

In deep despair art thou dismayed 
At heav’n’s impending wrath ? 

As crushed to earth alone forlorn 
Thou art abashed by fashion’s scorn. 


38 


THE PRODIGAL SON. 


LXXXVII. 

Is there one spark of sorrowing love 
Within thy stricken soul ? 

Does penitence thy bosom move 
Art yearning to be whole ? 
Would’st yet repair that broken life 
So full of anguish and of strife ? 


LXXXVII i. 

0 think of him in tattered forih 
Who left sins deepest mire, 

And found such peace succeed the storm 
And love supplanting ire ! 

Repentance gave the robe the ring - 
Made feasting friends rejoice ai d sing. 


lxxxi x. 

Leave thou tliy swineherd’s wretched lot 
And seek that tranquil home, 

In which thou hast not been forgot 
By him who bids thee come. 

A robe of righteousness is there 
A ring of freedom eanst thou wear* 



THE PRODIGAL SON. 

XC. 

A merry heart will then be thine 
Beneath thy father’s roof; 

No need of feast, of song, of wine, 

To furnish ample proof— 

But from a joy serene beneath 
A halo will thy brow enwreath. 

xci. 

Unlike the elder son may we 
In every mercy given, 

A grace most full and sovereign see, 

From kind, abounding heaven, 

And 0, when fallen ones repent 
Then let each soft’ning heart relent. 

xcu. 

Pray, why should our eye evil be 
When Christ is good and true P 
Would we- fain ask for charity ?— 

Let us not harshly view, 

But take an erring brother’s hand 
That Bethlehem’s strains may fill the land. 


40 


THE PRODIGAL SON. 


XCIII. 

Then He who treasured Mary’s tears, 

And Peter did forgive, 

Will banish all appalling fears, 

And cause that we may live 
Where Faith and Charity combined, 

Their fondest Hope may ever find. 

xciv. 

Corroding envy always shun 

At those more blessed than thou ;— 

If in life’s race they thee outrun, 

And laurels deck the brow— 

Fail not to wish them greater joy 
Than that, which now their souls employ. 

xcv. 

And ye who foully would asperse 
Those taken in a fault.— 

Who would each thoughtless deed rehearse, 
In slanderous assault,— 

Remember that this tale of love 
Was told by Him who pleads above. 


MISCELLANEOUS 


P O E M S 


















LIFE AS IT IS. 


IFE as it is—a thing of fears, 

A thing of hope, of smiles, of tears— 

A blossom which at morning blows, 

A blossom which at evening goes— 

A flower tinged with beauty’s blush, 

Which any thoughtless tread may crush ; 

A sky of azure, fair and bright; 

Which storm-clouds quick obscure from 
sight, 

A moonbeam’s evanescent play, 

Which ere the day-dawn speeds away ; 

A bubble floating on a lake 

That soon a passing breeze may break; 

A wave which tosses high and free, 

Then dies upon a tranquil sea. 



44 


LIFE AS IT IS. 


Life as it is—a songster proud 
Which leaves its perch to seek the cloud, 
But soon falls low with flutt’ring wing, 
No more to soar, no more to sing. 

Oh, fearful art thou, human life, 

Thou fitful thing, thou thing of strife ! 
Why mock us with the promise bright, 
Then leave behind the gloom of night P 
Not so that life which is to be— 

There no alloy, no mockery, 

No transient smile, no bitter tear, 

No intermingling hope and fear; 

No fading light, no short-lived bloom, 

No preparation for the tomb ; 

No palsied joy, no fleeting breath, 

No throbbing pulses hushed in death ; 

But as the eagle soars from sight, 

And leaves behind each mountain height, 
Ne’er pausing in his upward way, 

While yet remains one golden ray, 

So soars man’s spirit, once set free 
In that pure life which is to be. 


TO MY DAUGHTER, 

ON HER SIXTEENTH BIRTHDAY. 


IjpUST sweet sixteen—that golden age, 

P Enrolled on life’s mysterious page, 

^ When, childhood’s sunny hours gone, 

Some cherished hopes have with them flown; 
Dear Bessie, ’tis a parent’s will 
A child thou should’st continue still;— 

That freshness yet enwreathe thy heart, 

And true and bright affections start; 

That guilelessness may never cease, 

But always cause its inward peace; 

And childhood’s faith may gently twine 
Its fadeless wreath of love divine, 

Whose radiant halo on the brow 
May ever seal the fontal vow ; 



46 


TO MY DAUGHTER. 


That thou submit to His kind hand 
Who points us to the better land ; 

Be simple in thy every aim 

And heed not fashion’s hollow claim. 

If others seek in wealth to shine, 

Let household virtues pure be thine. 
Remember, beauty e’en most rare 
Without discretion is a glare, 

And duty should our time employ 
While pleasure is a wayside toy. 

8eek to attain that wealth of soul 
Whose winning and whose strong control 
Will charm when youth has had its day 
And human graces lose their sway. 

That God may bless thy future years 
And give thee more of smiles than tears, 
And thou at last His joy may share, 

Dear Bessie, is a father’s prayer. 



ON HEARING THE EVENING GUN 

AT QUARANTINE, STATEN ISLAND. 


« ARK to the sound of the evening gun, 
Proclaiming the work of day is done ; 

■ Dismissing the sons of toil to rest, 

With the weary bird that seeks its nest. 


Hark to the sound of the evening gun— 
It warns us life’s race is nearly run ; 

It echoes—the strife will soon be o’er, 
Booming along on the distant shore. 


Hark to the sound of the evening gun, 
Which tells of the slowly setting sun ; 
Of the broken heart, the fading hope— 
As fades the beam on the distant slope ! 




48 


THE EVENING GUN. 


It seems, too, resounding-—“ all is well,” 
While dying upon the ocean swell ;— 

It speaks of a sentry watch above ; 

Of a faithful angel guard of love. 

Hark to the sound of the evening gun, 

We know that the trysting time has come, 
When many a tender vow is made, 

’ Neath the silent stars in the sylvan glade. 

Hark to the sound of the evening gun, 
Which bids at to morrow’s rising sun— 
“Be wiser, be better than to day,” 

And walk henceforth in the truthful way. 



BEAUTIFUL HUDSON. 



BEAUTIFUL Hudson, roll on in thy might, 
As wooingly bathed in the moon’s soft’ned 


light! 

How fain would I watch from the High¬ 
lands above 

Each bark on thy breast like a snowy 
wing’d dove. 


Most pleasant to ponder the Catskill’s re¬ 
pose, 

As deepens the shade at the day’s gentle 
close ! 

To linger in summer-time near Tappan Zee, 

’Mid song's of the wood bird or hum of 
© 

the bee! 


6 




50 


BEAUTIFUL HUDSON. 


0 beautiful Hudson, thou stream of my 
heart, 

So noble in History, sacred to Art, 

How sweet to recall on the far distant strand, 
Thee, fairest of rivers which deck our free 
land. 


Let other bards sing of the beautiful Rhine, 
With turret-crowned hills, so like unto thine, 
But give me that stream which on Nature 
alone 

Has builded her claims and established her 
throne. 



THE MAGDALEN’S PRAYER. 


EAR 8aviour fold me in thy love, 
And take me to thy care : 

From Intercession’s heights above, 
Oh, hear a sinner’s prayer. 


A scornful world derides my tears 
And casts me from its sight; 

Let thy free pardon quench my tears 
With its prevailing might. 


The lab’rer hies unto his home, 

With footstep light and free ; 

But I from morn to night must roam, 
Bow’d down with misery. 




52 


the maqdalen’s prayer. 


Alas ! one thoughtless hour beguiled 
Into the paths of shame— 

I deemed him true who on me smiled, 
To rob me of my name. 


As now I gaze on yonder tide, 
With waters dark and deep— 
This wretchedness 0 let me hide 
In death’s oblivious sleep. 


But yet I shudder as the winds 
Seem searching to my heart;— 
For something resolution binds. 
And from myself I start. 


“ Dear Saviour thou dost intervene, 
Restraining my intent— 

Thy loving mercy now is seen 
This madness to prevent. ” 


the maqdalen’s prayer. 


53 


A fallen sister thou did’st raise 
And soothe her throbbing breast,— 
And should I fail thy love to praise, 
And on thy word to rest ? 


Then Jesus fold me in that love 
And take me to thy care ; 

From Intercession’s heights above 
O hear a sinner’s prayer ! 




CAST ANCHOR. 


WO vessels start upon the deep 
To reach a distant shore ; 

’Mid storm-wind, rising from their sleep, 
And distant storm-waves roar. 


“ Cast anchor,” speaks a solemn voice, 
’ Tis madness to proceed ;— 

One captain makes a fatal choice, 

The other quick takes heed. 


Ere long the wild o’er mastering gale 
Engulphs a reckless crew; 

While safely rides a folded sail 
Above the waters blue. 




CAST ANCHOR. 


Two youths start forth upon the tide 
Of life’s uncertain sea— 

“ Cast anchor ” on the heav’nly side 
Sounds from Eternity. 


For one that voice is raised in vain, 
The other marks its notes 
A human bark is driven amain, 

Its fellow safely floats. 


Seems all above serene and clear 
Within this world of ours P 
Behold yon darkling cloud appear, 
Which o’er the sunshine lowers. 


“Cast anchor,” friend, within the vail, 
And let wild billows beat; 

They cannot o’er thy trust prevail, 
Moored in Divine retreat. 


TO BE A PROTESTANT IS WHAT ? 


be a Protestant is what ? 

To be a man of narrow mind P 
Who hates all others of his kind ? 

To charity, to reason blind ? 

To be a Protestant is what ?— 

To be a friend of liberty ; 

To think the truth will make us free— 
To hate and strive ’gainst tyranny. 


To be a Protestant is what P 
To feel for all a Saviour died, 

Low superstition to deride, 

And read God's word what ere betide. 



TO BE A PROTESTANT IS WHAT ? 


57 


To be a Protestant is what ? 

To keep onr country, as to-day, 

Apart from foreign despots’ sway— 
To God, through Christ, alone to pray. 



MY WORLD WITHIN. 



HAVE a little world that’s all my own, 

No life of common-place can claim its throne? 

Far, far aloof from ponderous thought or 
care; 

This calm retreat an angel e’en might share; 

’ Tis perched, perchance, beneath the star-lit 
dome, 

Or where the wood bird builds his quiet 
home. 

It may be found while floating o’er the sea 

Where dancing waves are tossing proud and 
free; 

Or ’tis revealed when I, with book in hand, 

Am pensive strolling o’er the pebbly'sand. 





MY WORLD WITHIN. 


59 


No place, no occupation may conceal 
This sweet haunt which I cannot all re¬ 
veal, 

Such pleasant refuge is within my mind, 
And there alone this little world I find. 

The wealth of soul no poverty may reach, 

No sheriff's summons cause the slightest 
breach; 

The breath of scandal or the sneer of fools, 
The plots of knav’ry with its shuffling 
tools,— 

A rival’s envy or the rich man’s gold 
Their pow’r to injure here no longer hold. 
Far sooner may you scale the heights 
above 

As touch this home of truth, of light, of 
love. 


CLOUDS. 


OW gently they float on the still twilight 
air,. 

In forms most mysterious, varied, and rare; 

Now draped in vermilion or dappled in gold. 

They seem all emblazoned with riches un¬ 
told, 

As the Sun slowly moves to his home in the 
West, 

In concord assembled they bid him sweet 
rest. 

At midday how fieecily sail they above, 

Like good angels watching in silence and 
love ! 



CLOUDS. 


61 


How densely they thicken and blacken the 
height, 

As lowers the tempest in fury and might; 

And when the deep thunderings cease to 
dismay, 

How quickly they break ’neath the glad¬ 
dening ray !— 

This world is a radiant world to our sight; 

Still many a jetty cloud shuts out its light, 

But glories will deck e’en the shadows most 
drear, 

And make God's inscrutable providence 
clear ; 

And when towards evening life’s sun sinks 
to rest, 

A bow will illumine the beautiful West. 



TO A FRIEND 


BORN ON CHRISTMAS DAY. 


HE fairest day on Earth 
Was that which gave thee birth. 
Emanuel was born 
Upon thy natal morn ; 

Divine incarnate love 
Descended from above.— 

With many thou art given 
This richest boon of Heaven. 

May hopes be ever thine 
With which Christ’s name entwine, 
And grief stay but awhile 
Dispelled by His bright smile. 



THE HIDDEN CROSS. 


HERE is a cross which each one bears 
Within the soul’s unseen domain, 

’Tis bathed in silent, secret tears 
Therewith are blended unknown fears, 
A muffled grief, an untold pain. 


Perhaps it is a broken vow, 

A faithful loving heart betrayed ; 
The wreath torn from a hero’s brow, 
Before a rival weak to bow ; 

A wound by hollow friendship made. 


THE HIDDEN CROSS. 


Anon it is the wear and tear 
Of active life, of toil for bread, 
Dependent little ones in care ; 
Perchance a pauper’s grave to share— 
A hopeless weeping for the dead. 


Whate’er it be of heart or mind, 

Or anguish to this nerve-strung frame, 
In every heir of woe we find 
A cross to which the world is blind— 

To rich, 1o poor, to all the same. 


Would we this unveiled sadness heal 
And stay the deep dark Marah-tide ? 
Another cross Christ doth reveal, 

Which all of grief cannot conceal 

Where Calvary’s streams of mercy glide. 






















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